


The Prince and the Assassin

by Talc



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Assassination Attempt(s), Cultural Differences, M/M, Original Character(s), prince guard dynamic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talc/pseuds/Talc
Summary: On his tenth birthday, Prince Dorian is kidnapped...And then kidnapped again. Fortunately for him, the Dalish elves that have taken him have nothing but his best interest in mind. But his saviour, the young elf U'vunlea, refuses to let the prince go once the danger has passed. They'll have to compromise, but the kingdom's ways aren't exactly similar to the Dalish.





	The Prince and the Assassin

The streets of Teve were as crowded as any day, elbows rubbing against ribs as people tried to get a look of the passing carriages. The royal family hadn’t passed into the village in years, not since the birth of their only son. Today, being his tenth birthday, they were passing by the village on their way to Orlais, a vacation gift for their young son. People stood on their toes as they aimed their eyes at the golden vehicle, trying to look past thick curtains to spy one of the royals.

Not everyone was craning their heads. Some were trying to punch their way through the sea of bodies to get to the market, or their jobs. The thick of the crowd was more of an annoyance to the working class than a measure of how interesting a spectacle was taking place.

The guards were keeping the mass of bodies so the horses may pass through. Maybe this was why no one saw the figure dressed in white make his way to the front of the crowd. Maybe that’s why he had a clear shot to cut through the curtains. Dark figure sin the crowd were suddenly upon the carriage, the prince’s small wrist already grasped in the hand of the white figure, tugged out the broken window, struggling and screaming.

The crowd was the downfall.

Dull eyes watch from the shadows. They see the face of the boy, struggling to fight out of the grip. Weak, the mind behind the eyes think. Useless. But something propels legs forward, and no one notices a small body make its way among the crowd, as they had not noticed it earlier as it rid their pockets of gold and silver. They never noticed him.

No one can comprehend the scarlet suddenly running down the arms of the white figure. No one sees the blades that cut him, nor the hand that hold the blades. No one sees the prince either. He’s gone.

* * *

 

Living in the palace was boring. Dorian never got to leave, always going to lessons and meetings, being lectured about this and that. He always begged his mother to let him go into town, to take him somewhere new. She had always said no, stated how the world was dangerous, and he was too young.

Yet today, his birthday, he was being given a gift; a trip to another kingdom! Somewhere he’d read about in books, somewhere where they spoke different languages and ate different food. He was so excited he could barely stop himself from bouncing in his seat, only stilled by his father’s disapproving gaze. Sometimes it’s hard to remember to behave.

The young prince peaks through the curtains at the crowds, grappling and scream, some shouting his name. He turns to tell his mother about it when his vision goes white.

The sound of breaking class, the light blinding his eyes, than the sudden grip on his arm, tugging him through broken glass. He feels his skin shred, feels himself trying to kick, bite, anything to make the hands let go. He feels the press of a hand to his neck, hears the shouts of his parents.

When he falls to the ground, he is too disoriented to think. A small hand grabs his and tugs, so he follows, and soon his feet are running him into the ground, among a sprawling mass of bodies, a human forest. He feels small, so small.

The outskirts of town are empty, though, and the shadows feel safe, yet cold. His hand let go as his rescuer comes to a stop. Dorian finally has time to register what happened, has time to look at his hero.

Said hero pulls their hood down at that thought, showing Dorian their large, bright eyes. Their hair is long, to the shoulders like his mother, but pulled together in intricate knots. Braids, he remembers his mother telling him they’re called. They’re dressed in dirty, dark clothing, the likes of which Dorian has never been allowed to see before. They are small, smaller than Dorian. And their ears are pointed.

Oh.

Dorian has only seen a handful of elves before. Not many worked in the castle, his father stating slavery is beneath a king if he can afford to pay a staff, something about stimulating economy, whatever, Dorian wasn’t listening. He’s seen them before, though never one so…Small. They must be the same age as him, give or take a few years.

“Stop staring at me.” His hero’s voice is soft, but biting, their pretty eyes glaring at Dorian.

“Sorry…” Dorian feels bad. He knows it’s rude to stare. “What’s your-“ He tries to ask his saviour their name, but the small elf whips a glower at him.

“Stop talking.” They snap.

“Okay…” Dorian goes silent. His saviour is standing at the opening of the alleyway and looking out at the streets. They’re pretty empty right now, since everyone had been witnessing the royal carriages, but they look in multiple directions many times, head darting about.

“Ugh.” They make an unpleasant noise in the back of their throat and turn around, grabbing Dorian’s hand again. “I can’t see anything from here.”

Then Dorian is being pulled farther into the alleyway, and up a stack of crates. He’s wearing travelling clothes, but that doesn’t mean they’re really suited for moving about, and he feels the thin fabric tear beneath his knees, but the elf is still tugging, so he follows them through a series of crates and ladders until they’re standing on a rooftop, tucked between two large columns as they look out over the kingdom.

He can see in the distance the crowd of people they had run through. There are guards everywhere, and the carriage has gone missing. His saviour doesn’t seem to care about that, though, they’re looking at the surrounding streets.

Dorian doesn’t see anything of notice, but apparently they do because they suddenly swear loudly and grab Dorian. “Jump!” They shout and Dorian is suddenly sailing onto another rooftop, only the warning had come a bit too late and they both tumble across the stop. Dorian feels his clothes rip more and he just knows his mother isn’t going to be happy about this.

His saviour hisses and pulls Dorian up, dragging his hand again. “Actually jump this time, stupid shem!” The elf glares at Dorian and the young boy nods in return and they jump onto the next rooftop.

By the fifth jump, Dorian is getting the hang of this, and they dash across the kingdom by rooftop, Dorian clinging to his saviour’s hand as they move towards the edge of the kingdom. Dorian has never done so much physical labour in his life, and by the twelfth jump he pulls the elf to a stop, doubling over to breath quick and heavy.

His saviour watches him in disapproval, seemingly fine with all this running and jumping.

Dorian, for once, glares back. “I’m not used to this, you know!” He snaps.

“Is that my fault?” The elf snaps back. They exchange angry looks. Dorian stares at the elf’s pretty eyes and smiles. The elf, in return, glares more harshly. “Idiot.” They mutter, but the next time he grabs Dorian’s hand he doesn’t lead the to jump, instead helping him climb down from the roof into a dark alleyway.

By then it’s past noon and they’d been running for a few hours, and Dorian was exhausted. He wondered if the people who attacked him are even still looking, but his saviour seems to be convinced that they are most certainly in a lot of trouble. They lead Dorian through more alleyways on silent feet, not running anymore.

It takes a while, but once the sun is starting to set they’ve the edge of town. Beyond the clusters of buildings and cobblestone is farmland, spanning out farther than Dorian even knew plants could grow. He stares at fields and fields of tall, golden plants, backdropped by an array of colours from the setting sky.

It looks nice.

“What, you’ve never seen wheat before, rich boy?” His saviour snarks, letting go of his hand in favour of putting their fists on their hips accusingly. Dorian stops himself from sighing at the loss.

“I have but…Not this many.” Dorian answers, keeping his eyes on the fields.

The elf shakes their head and huffs. “Whatever.” They wave him into the field and they start making their way through the tall wheat stalks, sometimes crawling on their knees to avoid making the plants move too much.

By now, Dorian is drenched in sweat. His clothing is torn in multiple places, and covered in dust, dirt, and blood. He’s never been this dirty in his life, though he supposes if he ever was his mother would have made him bath right away. He doesn’t find that he minds it, too much, though.

They move through different fields, switching from wheat to corn, and passing through the shadows of farm houses. A few times the elf will stop them both and go still, ears twitching as they sit and wait. In those moments, Dorian sometimes hears far off horses, or the voices of men, too far away to make out. More than once his saviour puts their hand to their waist to settle on their dagger, as if they are preparing themselves for a fight.

Dorian just follows their lead, though, and by dusk they’re standing at the edge of a vast forest, one Dorian has only ever seen from the highest tower of the palace. At the edge of a path in the forest is a creature Dorian has never seen before. It looks like a horse, but is broader and horned, much prettier. On top of the horse-like thing is the figure of a person, and Dorian freezes.

His saviour, however, does not, and grabs Dorian’s hand again, tugging him towards the woods. As they approach, the figure gets off their not-horse and moves towards the two children. They’re slim and small, and wearing a thick hood that they pull down as they reach Dorian and his saviour to reveal another elf.

“Ne dareth, da’len.” She says, sounding absolutely relieved. Her hair is a short, lblazing red and her skin is decorated tree-like markings, something Dorian has never seen before. 

“Venavis, mamae.” Dorian’s saviour responds with a whine as the woman fusses over them, checking for wounds and such.

“Mir’len, iras ne’ghilas? Ne har-“ She stops, suddenly seeming to notice Dorian starting at her and his saviour. “’Lea? Ne’ghilani shemlen arla’el?” She sounds scared, and Dorian doesn’t know why. She takes a hand off of Dorian’s saviour and reaches for her waist, but the smaller elf waves their arms in front of her.

“Banal! Banal, Mamae! Venavis! Shemlen ma falon!” They practically shout, scrambling out of the woman’s grip to grab Dorian’s hand.

“Da’len…” The woman sighs, and what follows is a rather loud and fast argument between the two that Dorian does not even make out a word of. He hears a few words again, things like ‘da’len’ and ‘shemlen’, but knows not what they mean.

When the argument ends the woman is glaring at Dorian’s saviour, who is standing strong in front of him, holding tight to his hand. Dorian is practically clinging to him, trying not to look scared, trying to be strong like his father told him to be, but something about the grip on his tips him off that he might not be concealing his fear so well.

The woman sighs again, and takes a step towards the two children. Dorian flinches, but his saviour stands strong and in a moment the woman is crouching in front of them, staring Dorian in the eyes.

“Do not fear, child, I will not harm you.” The woman says, and her voice isn’t quite so angry anymore, though Dorian still hides behind his saviour. The woman sighs again. “My name is Enavuna. you have apparently met U’vunlea, my son.”

U’vunlea. So Dorian had a name for his saviour. He turns the name over in his mind, practicing it in his head so he remembers it later. Said elf looks back at him and squeezes his hand.

“What is your name, child?” Enavuna asks, and Dorian suddenly flushes, realising he forgot his manners.

“Dorian of House Pavus, ma’am.” He responds. Enavuna gapes at her son.

“Do you know what you have done, Da’len?” She asks, looking at U’vunlea with a hint of fear.

He nods. “I saved him on purpose.”

Enavuna presses her hands to her face and mutters under her breath. “Fenedhis lasa, my child is an idiot.”

“They would have killed him!” U’vunlea argues.

“You cannot-“ Enavuna begins, but stops herself. “No, we do not have time for this. Night will be on us soon, and the Keeper has promised to send out help if we do not return. Come, children.” Dorian doesn’t know what to do, but he follows U’vunlea and his mother to the large horse-like creature, staring up at it as his hand is let go and his saviour climbs on with help from Enavuna.

“Come here.” She tells Dorian, and he bites his lip as she lifts him and places him behind U’vunlea. “Hang on.” She climbs behind them and Dorian clings to his saviour as the creature takes off, the powerful, large body moving and living below them. He’s never felt so exhilarated in his life.

It’s dark, but by the light of the moon Dorian can still see the outlines of trees as they zip by them, the large creature gracefully avoiding obstacles in its path with seemingly no guidance from Enavuna.

The ride ends all too soon as the large deer thing slows, then stops all together. There are fire lights in the near distance, and the outlines of bodies. Enavuna lets the two young boys down from the creature and leads them towards the fire.

Dorian suddenly finds himself very scared. He trusts U’vunlea now, and can even find himself trusting his saviour’s mother, if only a little, but the idea of meeting a whole new society? Alone?

A small hand clasps his and he stops in his tracks, glancing at the small elven boy beside him.

“Come on.” U’vunlea tugs his hand, not bothering to even look at Dorian. The prince obediently follows, clutching tight to his new friend’s hand.

As they get closer to the fires, Dorian can make out small cloth buildings and wooden rooms on wheels. There are several fire pits, many with food being cooked upon them, with many elves gathered around the fires. The older ones all have markings like Enavuna, swirling pictures in greens, blacks, and reds, many different patterns and styles. There are a few other children, either around his age or younger. Many are gathered among an older looking elf, sitting on the ground circled around him.

There’s a woman standing in front of the middle most fire pit. She’s dressed in colourful robes and holding a staff. At her side is a younger woman with long, braided hair as white as snow and complicated markings, ones that frame her face, almost like a shield. The white haired one is pacing back and forth in front of the fire, hands crossed behind her back. When she catches sight of the three approaching, she suddenly stops, staring at them.

“Ena!” She suddenly shouts and races towards Enavuna, wrapping her arms around the woman, who returns the affection in kind. “Ma vhenan.” She says, holding tight to the woman.

“I am fine, Ariathra.” Enavuna smiles, wiping tears from the other woman’s face.

“What have you brought with you, da’len?” The older woman in the robes speaks up, stepping towards the two. “I see you found our little adventurer, but who is this shem?”

“Keeper.” The two women separate, but hold each other’s hands still, not seeming to want to let go.

“I saved him!” U’vunlea proudly proclaims, tugging Dorian forwards towards the three elven women.

He’s starting to notice some of the others in the camp turning to watch the interaction. Dorian suddenly feels a little self-conscious, moving back behind his friend as if to hide, but the little elven boy just squeezes his hand reassuringly.

“You have saved a shemlen? Da’len, we have discussed this in the past. The shemlen are not our responsibility.” The one Enavuna called Keeper gives U’vunlea a steady stare.

Said boy does not back down, though, only stand sup straighter. “They were going to kill him.” He declares.

“Keeper,” Enavuna begins. “’Lea says there was an attack in town today. An assassination attempt on the royal family.”

“Are you telling me that this child is a member of the court?” Keeper turns to look at the two adult women, gaze harsher, more judgemental.

“He is the crown prince.” Enavuna ducks her head, and the white haired woman wraps an arm around her.

Dorian finds himself biting his lip, ducking behind U’vunlea again.

Enavuna catches this and frowns. “May I speak to you in private? This is not a conversation these boys need to hear.”

Keeper sighs. “Yes, yes, fine. Ariathra, you’re to watch these two whilst we speak.”

The two women reluctantly drop each other’s hands and Keeper leads Enavuna away, glancing back at the two children with an unreadable expression.

“Hello, my name is Ariathra.” Dorian hadn’t noticed the white haired elf walk so close to them, but now she’s crouched down in front, smiling at Dorian.

“I’m Prince Dorian, ma’am.” The little prince introduces himself.

Ariathra giggles lightly. “No need for your shem formalities. Now, how about we get both of you into some clean clothes, and then will get you some dinner.”

At those words, Dorian suddenly realises how nice that sounds. He’s been running since this morning. His clothing is torn and filthy, and his stomach feels empty and raw. Still, he looks to U’vunlea for confirmation, only nodding when his saviour nods first.

Ariathra leads the two boys to one of the cloth buildings and begins sorting through a chest. She hands them both clothing and leaves them to dress.

Dorian has never worn such plain clothing before. It’s a long shirt and a pair of trousers in dark colours of greens and browns. The clothing is loose on him, maybe a size too big, not made for his body. There are no embellishments, no fancy designs in golds and silvers. Just cloth. Yet, it’s still quite comfortable. Not as soft as his usual cltohes, but it breathes, and ne no longer feels like he’ll be yelled at for getting dirty.

After they’re both dressed, Ariathra leads the two boys to one of the fire pits. Dorian can see the group of children, still gathered around the older elven man.

“And that is why we must live forever on the roads, avoiding the shems.” The older man says to the children, who stare at him with rapt attention.

The story over, some of the children get up and turn to look at Dorian and U’vunlea.

“’Lea!” they shout, and race towards Dorian’s saviour, wrapping their arms around him. He looks uncomfortable at the touch.

“I am fine.” He mumbles around the hugs.

“Who is this shem!?” A girl obviously younger than Dorian asks, her hands on her hips.

Dorian steps forward to introduce himself, but U’vunlea holds out a hand to stop him. “None of your business!” He says, glaring at the group of children.

“Do not be rude to them, da’len.” Ariathra is behind the two boys, holding something in her hands. “They are just curious. You were gone for quite some time.”

“Dareth shiral, Aria.” U’vunlea mumbles.

“Is fine, ‘Lea. Now, eat up.” She hands two bowls to the boys and U’vunlea leads Dorian to a stump where they both sit down.

Dorian has only ever eaten at a table with dozens of plates and silverware, all shining and glimmering. His mother would kill him if she saw him eating like this. He watches U’vunlea grab at the food with his fingers and eat that way, so Dorian does that too, wondering why these elves don’t have utensils.

The meal is some sort of meat with roots and nuts. The taste is nothing amazing, but for someone who hasn’t eaten all day it is delicious. They eat in silence, which is odd to Dorian. The first two meals of the day he tended to have alone, so he was used to eating in silence, but dinner was always at least with his mother or one of his tutors. There was always talk at the dinner table; endless news, ‘what did you learn today’s and gossip. Everyone here is engrossed in their food, though, and eat their fill without even a murmur.

The food, heavy and warm in Dorian’s stomach, makes the young prince feel sated, sluggish. He yawns and before he knows it, he falls asleep on U’vunlea’s shoulder, and the elf falls asleep on him.

* * *

 

Dorian wakes up warm. The world around him smells too fresh, like earth, but with the undeniable scent of living beings underneath. This is not the smell or feeling of his room at home. His sheets there are soft and silky, and the room smells like the oils the servants wash into them. Here, the heat is unbearably warm, like lying next to a fire. He’s covered by something soft, but coarse, many layers of somethings. Where he is used to a peaceful, quiet awakening, this one has the undertones of life. He can hear voices and footsteps. Movement.

The young prince opens his eyes to be greeted by the beautiful sleeping face of U’vunlea. Asleep, the elven boy doesn’t look nearly as angry at everything. His features are soft, from his eyes to his freckled cheeks. His hair is mused, no longer braided, and tangles among their bedding.

Said bedding seems to be mostly pelts and woven fabrics made of a soft fur Dorian does not recognise.

Dorian blinks sleepily, the warmth surrounding him comfortable, but not preferable. He would not want to leave this sleeping face behind, though.

“Good morning, Dorian.” A familiar voice says from behind U’vunlea. Sitting up slightly shows Ariathra awake in a cot next to them, lying next to Enavuna, who is still asleep.

“Good morning, Ariathra.” Dorian responds quietly.

“Wake up U’vunlea for me, please?” The woman is already undressing in the space next to Enavuna. She’s not wearing one of those things underneath her shirt, like his mother wears. The ones made of bones and cloth, with the pretty designs on them. Or one of those things that covers her breasts. He’s notice she doesn’t wear dresses, either, and neither does Enavuna. In fact, of all the elves he had met last night, the ones who wore anything resembling a dress were Keeper and a few others.

Ariathra puts on a new shirt, similar to the one she wore the day before and exits the tent, leaving Dorian alone with Enavuna and his sleeping friend.

Dorian has never purposefully woken up someone before, but he knows what wakes him up. He looks down at the peaceful body of his friend and carefully pokes him in the side. When doesn’t stir, Dorian pokes him again, this time on the cheek. A hand is pulled from the pile of furs to slap Dorian’s away.

The young prince finds himself giggling at the act, causing U’vunlea to roll over with a grumble.

“Wake up.” Dorian whispers, but gets no response. He sighs and tries to think of what he can do to get his friend up. When he was a very young child, he remembers his mother used to wake him up by kissing him on the cheek. She doesn’t do that anymore, doesn’t really spend much time with him at all.

The young prince bends down and leaves a soft kiss on U’vunlea’s cheek. Up close, he can see the freckles that dot the young elf’s cheeks. They look like stars. Dorian doesn’t remember raising his hand, but in moments his finger is trailing across the elf’s cheeks, following the dotted lines.

The sensation of someone grabbing his wrist and pushing him onto his back is sudden and terrifying. In but a moment U’vunlea is kneeling on Dorian’s chest, dagger at his throat.

“Good morning.” Dorian whispers. The elf on top of him stares, eyes still bleary from sleep, then slowly falls to the side, onto his back.

“Don’t do that.” He mutters, letting go of his dagger.

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Sitting in front of the woman that Dorian now knows is called the Keeper, Keeper Lavellan of the Dalish Clan Lavellan, is a daunting and intimidating experience for a ten year old. They’re in front of one of the fire places, set up on mats on the ground. The Keeper is watching the prince steadily as he fidgets in his seat.

U’vunlea has been told this is not a conversation for him, so he’s been sent away, but the young elf had only walked out of earshot, keeping Dorian in sight from several paces away. He looks like he did yesterday; sullen and serious with his beautiful, big eyes, and long cloak, hands on his daggers.

Enavuna is sitting next to the prince. Ariathra apparently had to leave to go hunting, so it’s just the three. Staring. In silence.

Keeper Lavellan speaks first.

“Prince Dorian, this morning some of our hunters confirmed that there was an assassination attempt on the royal family yesterday morning.” The way she says it leaves a sour feeling in the back of his mouth. He swallows thickly, thinking of what those words precisely entail. “Fortunately for you, we’ve received word that your parents are both alive and unharmed. Unfortunately, they are convinced that you were kidnapped by the assassins during the chaos.” Keeper Lavellan sighs, pressing her hand to her head. “If our young U’vunlea understood the political turmoil that this puts us in…”

“Your parents have fled the country at the behest of the royal guard, and will be staying there whilst the guard attempts to track down the assassins and negotiate the means of your surrender. This may take awhile, as there is nothing to negotiate for.”

“Because I’m here.” Dorian whispers, the pieces falling together. They couldn’t get a surrender from the assassins, nor him. He was here, with U’vunlea and his clan.

“Indeed.” The Keeper speaks bitterly, glaring off to the side. “We would normally not accept a shemlen living with us for any length of time without them being Vhenallin; friends of the people. Fortunately for you, we are not harsh enough to send a child off on his own to be slaughtered. So, you will be allowed to stay safe with the clan until the guard is able to catch the assassins or until your being here puts us in danger.” She locks eyes with Dorian, a steely stare dripping with authority. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.” Dorian nods slightly, not wanting to break eye contact with the Keeper.

“Staying here means you must adapt to our ways. We are no shems, we have no palaces or fancy homes. We have not the luxuries you are used to.” The Keeper stands, so Dorian stands too.

“I know.” Dorian is well aware how different the culture is here. He does not know if he’ll be able to keep up, though. He promises himself he’ll try his best.

“Good.” With that she turns to U’vunlea and signals him over. “I have agreed with your mothers to allow the young shem to stay with us. He is your problem, Da’len. Understand his misgivings will be yours too.”

“I understand, Keeper.” U’vunlea nods like a soldier, shoulders back, posture straight and eyes hard. It’s an odd stance on such a small creature.

“Then I leave you to it.” They share a look before the small elf grabs Dorian’s arm and tugs him away.

-

Dorian’s weeks with the Lavellan Clan are some of the best of his life. He’s equipped with clothes that used to belong to an older elf child. They’re comfortable and easy to move in, and no one minds when he dirties them. He learns with the Dalish, learns to use a bow, and how to weave and tend to halla. He learns the names of their gods, and their language. He learns and for once he doesn’t hate it.

Most of the clan are suspicious of him. They’ve learned not to trust the shems, learned to keep themselves guarded from anyone but the People. Yet, there are many who take to the child much too quickly. He is intuitive and polite, eager even to learn about them. He’s not the perfect guest, naturally, but he’s a good guest.

U’vunlea keeps Dorian in check. The two are practically inseparable, the young elf not letting Dorian out of his sight for more than a minute, if that. He keeps the prince close, corrects him of his many faux pas, patiently explains his world to this shemlen. The clan whispers about the young U’vunlea and how dead to the world he had been before Dorian. It’s as if the child has found his purpose, they think, and wonder why his purpose is this prince.

Enavuna and Ariathra take to the child as if he were their second son. Ariathra in particular mothers him excessively. She teaches Dorian grace and poise, the type she uses in her fighting and hunting. He grows stronger in body, more aware of his own abilities.

Enavuna brings the two children out on her sentry rides, teaches Dorian perception. She spends a good amount of time working, though, more than usual. There’s something she’s doing that no other knows what it is, but the red haired elf disappears at odd hours of the night and returns late.

On the day that the Keeper confirms the capture of the assassins, it is not just U’vunlea who mourns his leaving. A good amount of the clan sees the boy off, wishing him safe travels as Enavuna and U’vunlea leave with Dorian for the capital.

-

The exchange itself is daunting. Enavuna leaves her hart at the edge of the forests and leads her children into town. All three keep themselves hooded and shadowed, but they still receive untrustworthy stares from those around them. U’vunlea holds Dorian’s hand too tight and refuses to let go, practically dragging him along the streets.

The palace is no longer vacant for the first time since the prince’s birthday. With the assassins found and interrogation in place, the guard had returned the King and Queen to their home, promising they would have the location of the young prince soon.

The elves a block away from the palace and Enavuna leans down to Dorian, holding out her hands to him. “Da’len, you will have to finish this quest alone.” She states, taking the prince’s small hands in hers.

“No.” U’vunlea whispers, glaring at his mother. “I will bring him into the palace.”

“Do not do this, ‘Lea. This is a dangerous position we have placed ourselves in. Our clan could be slaughtered under the belief that we kidnapped Prince Dorian. We cannot risk you.” Enavuna gives her son a steady stare, eyes hard and serious.

“I will not leave him to face this alone.” U’vunlea’s eyes are steely, like his mother’s. he glares at her, determination scripted across his features.

“You will, U’vunlea, I will not allow you to walk in harms way.”

…

…

The glares the two exchange could start a forest fire. For an eternity the two elves stare one another down, a stalemate of intimidation, broken only by Dorian grabbing his friend’s hand.

“I’ll be fine.” The prince finds himself saying, reassuring his friend.

He watches the elves beautiful, large eyes go sharp, all angles and light. “No you won’t.” Without another word, U’vunlea is running, pulling Dorian along after him with Enavuna shouting and running behind them. But the two boys are small a quick. U’vunlea pulls them round corners and over alleyway walls and Dorian, though not without labour, keeps up much better than the last time they went on the run.

U’vunlea leads them to the palace with amazing accuracy considering he’d never been in the Capital before. They jump over rooftops and crates, dash across stone walls, pounding dust and dirt into the air as they approach the back wall.

It is not difficult for U’vunlea to climb the wall and drop down a rope for Dorian. It is not difficult for the two children to jump to the ground, landing on their hands and feet in the palace gardens.

It is not difficult for them to pick themselves up and walk towards the door to the palace.

What would be difficult, though, is convincing the guards no harm was done.

The men in armour gather up the two boys, holding them as if they were criminals. U’vunlea listens to the gruff voices as they discuss what to do with the trespassers. Throw them over the wall? Maybe put them in the dungeon for a spell? Or hand them over to the servant master and put them to work. The small elf watches the prince struggle in the grip of the tall guard holding him and devises a plan.

The knife up U’vunlea’s sleeve digs right into the hand of the man holding his wrists. The man cries out, jumping back and scrambling to grab the boy with one hand, which is swiftly stabbed as well. U’vunlea drops to the ground, diving forward and reaching for the guard holding Dorian.

Only

He stops short from stabbing the man and instead yanks the cloak off of Dorian’s head, revealing to the guards the face of their prince. In their surprise, they not only drop the prince, but gasp and step back. U’vunlea takes this opportunity to grab Dorian’s hand and yank him inside the building.

Dorian knows where he’s going, now. He’s seen every inch of the palace whether his parents like it or not, so he takes his turn leading his friend along the confusing and winding paths of the building. For a few minutes they can hear one of the guards racing after them, but a few turns and odd hiding places and they lose them and continue on their way.

The throne room is centred in the building, surrounded by large glass ceilings and balconies that are lined with men and women in suits of armour. In the room sits the two golden thrones on a green dais, dressed with the Pavus coat of arms and elegant designs. This is what the two young boys find as they enter the room from a hidden servant’s door, Dorian pulling his friend up to the steps where they can clearly see two figures sitting on the thrones, heads adorned with formal crowns and diadems, faces covered with mourning veils.

The figure on the left stood immediately as they caught sight of Dorian. “Dorian!” The prince hears his mother’s voice from beneath her dark veil, which she pushes out of the way to see him clearer.

“Mother.” Dorian’s voice is small and nervous for once, and he clings to U’vunlea. The young elf gives him an odd look, but squeezes his hand in reassurance.

“Oh, my son!” The woman rushes forward and takes the prince in her arms, hugging him to her chest. “We were so worried about you, my child.” Her voice is breathless, relieved as if she was finally letting out the air she had been holding for years.

“I’m sorry, mother.” Dorian lets his mother hug him, but shows no comfort in the act.

“Dorian.” The gruff voice of his father cuts through the reunion. The king id now standing, having removed his veil entirely to reveal a face fairly similar to his sons.

“Father.” Dorian steps away from his mother, letting her back away and return to her husband’s side.

“You have returned to us. Unharmed I hope?” The king steps forward and places a hand on his son’s head, an affectionate gesture that is met with a hopeful smile and a nods from the young prince below it. “Good. Who is your companion?” the hand is removed and the king steps back to stare at the still hooded figure next to the prince. “Not your captor, surely?” It was obvious to everyone in the room at the cloaked figure was no older than the prince himself, and not capable of kidnapping him.

“I am U’vunlea Lavellan, of the Dalish Clan Lavellan.” Dorian bites his lip as his friend removes his cloak, shocking the room as he reveals his large eyes and pointed ears. An elf? In court?

“He is my saviour.” Dorian cuts in before his friend can say anymore, or his parents protest, the words already worriedly formed on their lips. “Ser Lavellan saved me from the assassins and his Clan graciously gave me safe haven while the culprits were being tracked down.” He speaks with a soft, but determined voice, the kind his tutors had been forcing him to speak in for years, still wavering with misuse.

“Your kingdom was unsafe.” U’vunlea states. He stares directly at the king, locking eyes with him as if to challenge him, to question why he couldn’t protect his own son. “I am unwilling to allow Dorian in your care until it is proven to me that you will be able to provide him with sufficient guard. Not the lackeys we met at the door.” This was probably the most Dorian had ever heard his friend speak continuously outside of the long elven arguments he often shared with Enavuna. He can’t help but gape at this friend in confusion. This had not been part of the plan, and Dorian was getting the impression U’vunlea had been purposefully hiding his intentions this whole time.

The king looks rightfully offended. “You dare come into my kingdom, and accuse me of not providing a safe enough environment for my own son?”

“I will not let Dorian go until I am satisfied with his safety. Consider him my captive form this moment on.” The young elf looks perfectly serious, staring evenly at the king with his large, glassy eyes. Dorian is not afraid of his friend, never will be, but in that moment he surely fears for him.

The king’s gaze sharpens and a few guards step forward, only to be stopped by a signal of the king’s hand. “It is foolish to believe a child, let alone an elven child, could understand the inner works of my royal guard, nor believe he could singlehandedly kidnap my son. I see no reason to meet your demands.”

 U’vunlea moves with quick efficiency, pulling a knife out of his pocket and flitting behind Dorian so he can hook his arm around him and press the knife to his neck. “Then we will take our leave.” Now Dorian feels adrenaline course through his veins, the sharp point of the knife so close to his skin.

“No!” The queen holds out her hand, stepping forward again. “No you shall not! I will not have you take my son away from me again!”

“Lea, please.” Dorian murmurs, and his friend pauses. “I…Trust me?” The prince pleads.

The young elf drops his knife and takes a step back. “Please, do speak Dorian.” He says with a flourish of his knife hand, sneering mockingly at the king.

“If you are so dissatisfied with the guard, why don’t we just hire you?” Dorian suggests, turning to look at U’vunlea.

The room goes dead silent as the two boys lock eyes with each other, U’vunlea’s growing wider by the second.

“I do not think-“ The king starts, but is almost immediately cut off by his wife.

“I accept this proposal!” She says, voice confident, demanding. “We offer you, U’vunlea Lavellan of Clan Lavellan, to be Dorian’s personal guard. You will have a direct hand in my son’s security, and will train with him and with our guard.” She steps forward, ignoring her husband’s glares. “Do you accept this offer?”

The elf stares evenly at the queen, seemingly contemplating the offer. Dorian finds himself clutching to his friend’s arm, fearful of his answer, no matter what it may be.

“I accept.” U’vunlea finally announces, voice loud and clear.

“I do not accept!” A voice rings from the crowd, and suddenly Enavuna appears, considerably angry and flanked by a set of guards who are not succeeding at catching her, even as she stands in place.

“You do not get a choice in this.” U’vunlea responds, not even bothering to look at his mother.

“Who are you?” The king demands.

“I am Enavuna of Clan Lavellan. These boys are… U’vunlea is my son.” She looks particularly melancholy as she glances at Dorian. “I do not consent to this agreement. I will not have my son grow up among humans, cut off from the clan. It is not done.”

“It is not your decision.” U’vunlea responds. “I swore to protect Prince Dorian, I will renounce the clan if that is what is required to fulfil my promise.”

Enavuna stares at her son and he stares back, eyes locked in fierce determination.

“He has already agreed.” The queen says, desperate, voice weak as if she is not used to making the decisions. “Your son has already agreed to the proposal, he cannot go back on his word now without consequence.”

There’s a decidedly smug look on the young elf’s face as his mother’s frown sets. She has no rebuttal, and keeps her mouth shut.

“There, we have an agreement.” The king in no way seems happy with this compromise, but sees no way of stopping his wife, such the agreement stands. “Let us move on with our day.”

The boys were ushered into baths and dressed in appropriate clothing, and brought to the king’s study with Enavuna to settle the specifics of the agreement; U’vunlea would be Dorian’s personal guard such until Dorian himself dismissed him  or until Dorian came of age and claimed the throne, wherein the agreement would be revisited. He would sleep in an adjoined room to the Prince’s, attend lessons and practices with the prince, and be trained as a member of the guard.

There were set restrictions and liberties, rules settled by the king and queen and Enavuna. She negotiated the right for her son to continue his cultural practices at his own discretion, and arranged for the right to return to the clan and discuss the subject with their Keeper before the agreement would be finalised.

Both boys signed a contract, and thus the pact was sealed.


End file.
